


Safe Anchorage (Rewrite)

by libraryseraph



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Platonic Relationships, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Sibling Bonding, is platonic mutual pining a thing, lord help me I'm back on my bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryseraph/pseuds/libraryseraph
Summary: Jeyne doesn't have a home anymore. But she has Theon(rewrite of my old fic, Safe Anchorage)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to rewrite this fic because, while I'm still pretty proud of it, my writing skill has changed a lot in the past 5 years.  
> Warning: archive notes apply to descriptions and discussions of past child sexual assault and torture. None of these subjects will appear in the present.  
> Thanks to sapphfics for beta-ing!

Winterfell was cold. It had never been this cold before, Jeyne thought. She knew it was only that it had been summer before, and if nothing had happened, it would still be cold, but in her heart, she felt differently. In her heart, she knew Winterfell was violated and grieving and dying, and that was where the cold came from, that crept in at every corner. Jeyne stayed alone in her rooms. There were maesters who came to look at her nose and her ribs.  
“This must have hurt”, one of them had said, as he wrapped her chest. Jeyne would have laughed, if she could. There had been no pain; she hadn’t even known what the crunching noise was at first, too caught up in fear and elation. She remembered Theon scooping her out of the snow with surprising strength, and carrying her into the blizzard.  
Theon was the only one who had cared about her, about Jeyne, and now even he was gone. Everyone else who had come was empty, their words false and hollow. They called her Lady Arya and she wanted to scream, to throw something, but it wouldn’t have helped. She pressed her hands against the window, feeling the cold seep in. The days had been slipping by in tangled clumps. Sometimes, a single hour would drag out agonizingly long, and other time a day would pass in a rush. Sometimes, Jeyne would drift away from herself, and come back to realize she had been weeping. She was pacing rounds of her bedchamber, trying to keep herself from wilting back into despair, when someone knocked at her door.  
“Come in.” She sat on her bed, smoothed her skirt, and tried to look composed. Two of Stannis’ men entered the room, along with the king himself. Jeyne dipped into her deepest curtsey, ignoring the pain in her side. “Your Grace.”  
“Lady Arya. I have good news for you.”  
Jeyne raised her eyes, and made herself meet Stannis’ eyes, even though it hurt. “Good news, your grace?”  
“Your brother Rickon has been found alive. Bran Stark may be alive as well.”  
Jeyne gasped. “Rickon- how-?” Her eyes filled with tears.  
“He has been found on Skagos. It appears Greyjoy lied, and your brothers survived the Sack of Winterfell.” Something softened infinitesimally in Stannis’ face. “I am sure he will be glad to see his sister again.”  
Jeyne’s stomach clenched at that. Rickon was so little when everything started, he might not be able to tell the difference. She couldn’t keep lying to a child, but telling the truth would mean Rickon was losing his family all over again.  
“What- what of Theon Greyjoy, Your Grace?”  
Stannis ground his teeth angrily. “Against my better judgement, he has been pardoned. He was innocent of the murder of the Stark boys, and his sister has promised she can use him the break the Kingsmoot. They will be returned to the Iron Islands when travel is possible.” He turned and left, without saying anything more.  
Jeyne stared at the closed door, and broke down into tears. 

Jeyne slept poorly that night. She would drift into sleep, and wake up shaking and crying again. She should have been happier, and she was, she was relieved, but she couldn’t stop crying. Theon was the only one who had known her name, the only one in years to offer her even the tiniest bit of kindness. Even if he wasn’t executed, he would still be gone, and she’d be left to drown in falsehood again. When morning came, Jeyne was cold and exhausted and aching, but she knew what she had to do.  
She opened her door a crack. It wasn’t locked now, which was a nice change. “Please. I need to speak with King Stannis.”  
The guard looked surprised to see her outside. “I- I’ll see what I can do, my lady.”  
While she waited for the guard to return, Jeyne paced her room, practicing what she wanted to say. By the time the guard returned, she felt like she might be able to speak without breaking into tears. 

Walking through Winterfell now felt like a dream. Sometimes, she would almost be able to forget where she was, and then she’d pass a corner that reminded her of before, before all this began, and for a second, she’d feel like she was back in her childhood. That was better than being reminded of her marriage; she hadn’t been allowed in this part of the castle then, so there was nothing but the usual background ache. She clenched her fists in her skirt.  
King Stannis had filled the solar with maps, precisely centred on all the tables. They were covered with tiny models of castles and soldiers. Jeyne had always loved maps as a child; she would look down at them and pretend she was flying over the land. She couldn’t fly now; she was bound here, a prisoner of her own memories. Stannis was looking at a map, his face hard and set.  
“You wished to speak to me, Lady Arya?”  
Jeyne curtsied, desperately digging up every bit of courtesy she’d ever learned. She recited the words she had decided on the night before, route and memorized enough that she didn’t have to worry about breaking down. “I need to tell you, Your Highness. I’m not Arya Stark. I’m Jeyne Poole, daughter of Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward.”  
It was hard to meet King Stannis’ eyes, but Jeyne made herself look.  
“And Lord Bolton knew this?”  
Jeyne’s mouth was dry. “Yes, Your Highness. I think most of them knew. They would never have let that happen to the real Arya.”  
“And what of Theon Greyjoy?”  
“He knew. He was the only one who knew and did anything,” she added hastily.  
King Stannis’ face was hard and set. “Why have you told me this, now?”  
“I didn’t wish to lie to you any more, your grace.” Flatter him, she thought, men like flattery. “I know you can be trusted to be fair and just.”  
Stannis ground his teeth. “I have no patience for the flattery of women.”  
Jeyne smoothed her skirts down.  
Stannis wasn’t looking at her anymore. “Bring me Greyjoy,” he called to the guard outside the room.  
“Please…” Jeyne’s throat was so tight, she had to raise her hands to her neck to make sure she wasn’t being choked. “It- it’s not his fault.”  
Stannis didn’t respond. He didn’t offer her a seat, and Jeyne didn’t dare take one. She had to go away, back to that place inside her, where everything was silent and still. It had gotten harder and harder to get there in the past. He had noticed when she went away inside, and he would do anything to bring her out. Jeyne had stopped doing it, just to try to spare herself the worst of her suffering.  
“I’ve brought him, my king.” Jeyne jumped as the door opened. Theon looked better than he had the last time she’d seen him. He was clean, and wearing new clothes, and he was holding himself a little straighter.  
“You asked for me, your highness?”  
Stannis sounded even more irritated than before. “Ask her.”  
Jeyne could feel tears welling in her eyes. “I told him, Theon. I told him the truth.” She burst into tears.  
“She isn’t Arya Stark. You knew this all this time. What do you have to say for yourself?”  
Jeyne felt Theon’s hand resting on her shoulder. “I assumed it would be safer for her.”  
Jeyne wrapped her arms around herself. _This is bad. This is bad, and wrong and I’m in trouble and I shouldn’t have said anything-_ Theon took her hand, and squeezed it. She looked at him, and his eyes were kind. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”  
Stannis grunted. “Clearly, we will have to find a place for you.”  
An icy bolt of fear jabbed into her stomach at that. “I don’t- I don’t want that, your grace.”  
“Do you have any better ideas?”  
“I want-” Jeyne took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to stay with Theon. Please, your grace, he was the only one who truly cared for me, please.”  
“Ask Lady Greyjoy.” Stannis hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice seemed softer. “The Iron Islands are no place for a young girl. My daughter is at the wall, and she is of an age with you. With Winterfell reclaimed, travel there will be much simpler, and Shireen should have proper companionship.”  
Jeyne stepped away from Theon, and curtsied as deeply as she could. “I thank you for your offer, your grace, but I wish to stay with Theon for now.”  
Stannis sighed. “Have it your way. Both of you, leave now.”  
Stannis’ guards ushered them outside the room. Theon reached out, and gently brushed her shoulder with his hand. “I’ll tell Asha.”  
“Thank you.”  
“You’re very brave, Jeyne.”  
Jeyne started. “I’m really not. I haven’t done anything brave.”  
“Oh, Jeyne.” Theon looked at her. There was something unnameable shining in his dark green eyes. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

~

“Stannis decided to spare you again, I see?”  
Asha embraced Theon hard when he limped back into their rooms, before he had a chance to answer.  
“He’s a man of his word.”  
Asha grunted dismissively as she released him. “What happened?”  
Theon sat down on the bed. There were chairs in the small chambers they shared, but the bed was softer. “It’s about Jeyne.”  
Asha frowned “Jeyne?”  
“No, wait, you don’t know. The Boltons didn’t have Arya Stark. They wouldn’t have married her to Lo- to Ramsay if they had, anyways. Jeyne Poole, the steward’s daughter. The Lannisters… had her somewhere.” They trained me, she had said. “All they needed was some girl who could look like Arya. I saw her eyes. They were the wrong colour.”  
Asha reached out for him, taking his thin, mangled hands in her strong calloused ones. “This is the girl you saved?”  
“Yes. She- she said my name, Asha.” His voice broke, and Asha pulled him close.  
“That’s good. That’s good, Theon.”  
Theon basked in her approval, wondering how there was ever a time when he hadn’t wanted it. “Jeyne wants to come with us, Asha. Will you let her? Please?”  
“Aye, I will. I’d like to speak to her, too.” Asha brought a hand up to cup his head. She had been so gentle recently. She had been the one to wash him after his pardon, and she held him when he screamed at night. It was strange, to be treated with such delicacy, but the hungry, desperate need in Theon’s chest outweighed the feelings of strangeness.  
The next morning, Asha was gone when Theon awoke. He was lying in bed, the blankets and furs tucked tightly around him. Sunlight leaked in through a gap in the shutters, and there was a fire burning in the hearth. He was hungry, but the hunger was small and distant, and he was clean, wearing clean clothes. Theon laid there and basked in it, until his hunger became nagging enough to address. It was strange, he thought, as he went to the hearth and uncovered the pot. Not far in the past, eating two days in a row was an unimaginable luxury, and now here he was, hungry after having dinner the night before. The pot left on the hearth had porridge in it. It was bland, but filling and, most of all, soft, and Theon ate until his stomach felt almost uncomfortably full. Dressing was another strange luxury; his clothes were plain, but warm, soft, and clean. He was clean, and fed, and he had clean clothes, and he thought he might cry.  
There was a knock at his door, soft and hesitant.  
“Yes?”  
He had just enough time to notice Jeyne entering the room, before she had flung herself at him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.  
“Jeyne- What are you-?”  
Her face was pressed into his chest, and her shoulders were shaking. Theon brought his hands up to cup her shoulders. She was warm; he could feel it through the soft wool of her dress. She looked up at him, he big brown eyes full of tears.  
“I’m sorry- I just- got afraid you wouldn’t want me…” The last words were so quiet, he could hardly hear them. Theon looked at her, tears shining on her cheeks, and felt something wrench in his chest.  
“No. If you wish it, you will always have a place with me.” He rested his cheek on her head. “I said I would be right beside you, and I mean it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same content warnings as last chapter apply. This chapter was beta'd by Lanwan.dreamwidth.org. (wondering if I should put an Autistic Character tag on this?)

Jeyne felt sick. It was her nerves, she was sure. Maybe saying her name hadn’t made things worse, but the fear was still there. She could feel it, twisting her stomach into knots and chattering in her head when she closed her eyes. The worst part was, she shouldn’t be feeling it now. Theon wanted her to see Asha, and Asha _should_ be safe; she was Theon’s sister, after all. She clenched her fists in her skirt and stared at the table’s woodgrain. Theon had said he would stay with her. She remembered that and she had to keep remembering it, to keep the dark thoughts that moved through her mind, like a worm through an apple, away.   
“I’m coming in.” Theon’s voice was muffled through the door.   
“Yes.” They were his rooms, he could come in no matter what she said, but she said it anyways. Theon and Asha entered the room. Asha was strange. Her dark hair was short, and she wore men’s clothing like she had been born to it. Even recovering from her broken leg, she moved with not just power, but confidence. It was as if she knew she ruled the world, and was just waiting for everyone else to notice.   
Jeyne stood up, and curtseyed as deeply as she could. “I apologize for not introducing myself properly last time we met, Lady Greyjoy. I am Jeyne Poole, daughter of Winterfell’s steward.”   
Asha reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Her hand was warm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”   
“Thank you, my lady.” Jeyne couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said that to her, to Jeyne.   
The three of them took seats around the small table. Theon sat within reach, and Jeyne reached out and took his hand. He let her, squeezing her hand after a moment of hesitation.   
“You want to come to the Iron Islands with us?”   
Jeyne’s throat was suddenly dry. “Yes, my lady. I want to stay with Theon. I can sew, and embroider, and my father taught me to handle coin.” She took a deep breath. “I can be useful, I promise.”   
Asha reached out and touched the top of Jeyne’s head, cupping it gently. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll take you back with us, I promise.”   
Jeyne felt a rush of joy and hope, unfamiliar but welcome. “Thank you, my lady, thank you.” She was grinning like a little girl, she knew. She turned to Theon, and saw him smiling. He had his lips pulled down tight over his teeth, but he was still smiling.   
“See? What did I tell you?”   
Jeyne squeezed Theon’s hand, and felt him squeeze back.  
“Theon.” Asha pushed back from the table. “You need to come with me. Jeyne can come too, if she wants.”  
“What- what is it, my lady?”   
Theon’s fingers had gone stiff in hers.   
“It’s the execution.” Asha raised a hand to ward off protests. “You need to see it, Theon. You need to know that this is over.” She turned to Jeyne. “You should watch, too.”   
“My lady, I don’t-” Jeyne rubbed her thumb across the back of Theon’s hand. “I don’t want to see him again. No matter what it’s like.”  
“You need to know he’s dead. Both of you do.” Asha’s voice was soft, but Jeyne could feel the steel underneath.   
“Let… let us watch from my window. Please. I don’t want to see it that close.”  
Asha sighed. “Fine.”  
Jeyne and Theon walked back to her rooms in silence. She couldn’t say anything, too caught up in the realization growing within her. It wouldn’t matter. No matter if she saw it from a window, or close enough to feel the flames lick at her own flesh, or never saw it at all, it would never be over. She felt it rising, like a tide of black water threatening to drown her, and clenched her fists in her skirt.   
Jeyne was still in the rooms they’d put “Lady Arya” in after the siege. Either they hadn’t seen the need to move her, or they had seen no place to put her. The window looked out over the yard, crusted with frost that formed elaborate, flowering patterns. Jeyne scraped them away, revealing the yard. People were packed into it, with only a small clearing left for the block.   
“They don’t have a pyre.” King Stannis was standing by a block, his sword at his waist.   
“He’s doing it like a Northman,” Theon said, coming to stand beside her. “The Lords wouldn’t want a sacrifice to The Red God in Winterfell, especially not right after ousting a usurper.” His voice was almost too measured, flat and toneless, and Jeyne moved a little closer to him.   
The guards lead Roose out first. He was following calmly, as if he was going for a stroll, and Jeyne wondered if they even needed the guards. Jeyne couldn’t hear distinct words through the window, but she could hear Stannis listing Roose’s crimes, and she saw when he was shoved to his knees in front of the block. Stannis’ sword rose, and fell, and blood spurted out, like rose petals scattered over the snow.   
As the men dragged his corpse away, fear spiked in Jeyne’s chest, and when she looked over at Theon, she saw that he had gone stiff and tense. Jeyne made herself look, made herself keep her eyes open and focussed on the yard. After everything she had seen, after everything that had been done to her, there was no reason for this to be the thing that broke her. If she told herself that enough, it would be true.   
Ramsay wasn’t led by the guards, he was dragged. There were five men on him, each of them gripping them tightly as he struggled against his bonds, and against them. Jeyne clenched her fists in her skirts so hard her knuckles ached. He was screaming, awful things she didn’t let herself make out, and the crowd was screaming back, louder than they had with Roose. Stannis had to shout to make the charges heard, and the first time Jeyne heard “raping” she clamped her hands over her ears. Stannis forced Ramsay to the block and raised his sword. The roaring in Jeyne’s ears rose to a higher pitch, and the sword fell. It was like a child pulling a doll’s head off. Even the blood spurting out and staining the snow a newer, brighter red didn’t change that. Where her fear had been, there was a patch of nothingness.   
“Theon?”   
Theon’s hands were tight on the windowsill, and he was staring into space, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Theon!” Jeyne reached for him, and he shied away from her touch, collapsing to the floor and curling into a ball. She fell to her knees next to him. “Theon, can you hear me?”   
“I’m a fool. I’m a fool, and a coward.”   
“Don’t say that.”  
“It’s true. I can’t- I can’t believe he’s gone. I know there was a time before him, but I can’t imagine him being gone. I’m still broken.” His voice broke on the last word.   
“Oh, Theon…” Jeyne reached out her hand, letting it hover just above Theon’s.   
“I don’t want to be like this anymore.” He took her hand. “I don’t.”  
“I know. I know.”

Jeyne practically fell off her horse at the port. The days of travel had blurred together, just one endless stretch of riding and tents, broken only when she or Theon woke up screaming or when she had to stop her horse to be sick. Even now, her stomach was unsteady and watery-feeling, and her mouth tasted of bile.   
Theon clambered off his horse next to her. “Look at that…” he breathed, gazing out at the ships. The ships were crowded together and stabbing masks into the sky like a strange forest. They seemed almost too small for the port, and she said so.   
“This is a river port. The ships go to the sea from here. That’s where they’re meant to be.” He was looking out over the water, his eyes wide. It was like the sun was rising on his face. For a moment, even with the ragged white hair straggling out from under his hood and his hollow cheeks and his sunken eyes, he looked young again. They stood together as Asha discussed their passage on the docks.   
“I’ve never been on a ship before,” said Jeyne, leaning into Theon slightly.   
“Really?”   
“Is that such a shock?”   
Theon’s eyes had gone so wide, it was almost comical. “I suppose not.” He made a face that was very nearly a smile. “We’ll have to fix that.”   
“I’m a little scared.” Jeyne smoothed her skirt, and tried to put her words in order. “It’s… it’s something new, and that scares me.”   
Theon rested a hand on her shoulder, gently and cautiously. “What are you afraid of? I don’t know if I can help, but…”  
“It’s not- it’s not anything in particular. It’s just something I don’t know about, and the fact I’ve never done it before scares me. It used to happen all the time, before… before I got real things to be scared about.” Jeyne remembered, on the way to King’s Landing, telling Sansa about it, and how she didn’t want to be scared, it was silly to be scared of something so wonderful. _That girl was more right than she knew. She was right to be scared._  
“I’ve sailed this way before, and I’ve done it more than once. It’s not a hard journey for any decent crew.” There was a hint of pride in his voice.   
Jeyne took a deep breath. “I’ll do it then. If you’re with me.” 

~

Theon stood at the ship’s rail, staring out over the ocean. They were a few days out from the river’s mouth, and the ocean stretched out on all sides. The waves were the colour of iron under the clouded sky, making soft crashing noises against each other and the boat. Theon tilted his head back and took a deep breath of the crisp, clean sea air, filling his lungs with it until they ached. He had a deck under his feet again, moving to its own rhythm, and the waves slapping against it to the beat of his heart.   
“Theon?” It was easier to remember his name on the ship, and he turned. Jeyne was staggering across the deck towards him. She didn’t know how to walk with the deck, reeling at every tilt and dip it made. She had been ill from the tossing of the ship, and now her face was pasty, and even more drawn then usual.  
“Feeling better?”   
Jeyne moaned, and leaned on the rail next to him. “I suppose. I’m just so tired, and I’ve been ill, and it’s cold.” She looked up at him. “Aren’t you cold?”   
“I’m ironborn. The sea is in my blood. It doesn’t matter if it’s cold.” It was a good cold, a sharp, present cold that carried the scent of the sea with it. It kept him awake, and kept him from slipping back into darkness. He could handle a little cold for that.   
“I know, but you’re still not strong.” She rested one small, gentle hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to get sick.”   
“You should be looking after yourself.” Theon hesitantly rested a hand on her back, letting it rest there when she didn’t flinch.   
“I’m fine. I’m just not used to the way the ship moves.”   
She had been ill on the ride to the port too, Theon remembered, but he didn’t say anything. Jeyne turned, and smiled at him.  
“It must be good to be back on the ocean again.” She reached up, and brushed a lock of pale hair out of his face. “You seem happier.”   
“You have,” Theon let out a deep breath, “no idea.”   
The ship hit a wave, and Jeyne staggered before catching herself on the rail. “What’s happening?” She took one hand off the rail, running it over her skirt. “Is a storm starting?”   
Theon looked out over the waves. “This is just how a ship moves under a good wind. It’s not even close to a true storm.”   
“I hope I never go through a true storm, then.”  
“I’m an ironborn. We aren’t afraid of storms. Dying in a storm is like dying in battle, and no true ironborn flinches from a battle.”  
Jeyne looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Tell me more.”  
Theon leaned on the rail next to Jeyne, and told her stories of raids and storms and bloody battles. 

The first night on Harlaw, Theon couldn’t sleep. When he closed his eyes, fevered, nightmarish images danced beyond the lids, and all his tendons stiffened to the point of pain. When he reached the hour of the bat having snatched no more than a few moments of sleep, he gave up, lit a lantern, and went to wander the halls of Harlaw. His feet and legs ached, but he ignored them.   
A scream split the night. Theon jumped, his lantern nearly slipping from his gloved fingers. Heart pounding, he raised the lantern, searching the shadows for anything that could be lurking in them. Another wail came, this one lower but just as full of anguish, and Theon felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. It was Jeyne screaming. Ignoring his body’s protests, Theon ran to Jeyne’s room.  
“Jeyne?” Theon opened the door to her room and stepped in, lantern raised. She was huddled on her bed, her face buried in her hands and her dark curls falling around her face.   
“I had-” She was still crying, her words broken by sobs. “I had a nightmare and I woke up and- and it was dark and I was alone.” She snuffled, and wiped at her face with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”  
Theon put his lantern down on the bedtable, and sat on the bed next to her. “You didn’t wake me.”   
“I dreamt- I dreamt about King’s Landing. That first time, I’d been alone for days, and I screamed and screamed but nobody came, and this man came in. I asked him to help me and he looked at me and- and he _laughed_ , and pushed me to the bed…” Her voice trailed into sobbing.   
“Oh, Jeyne…”   
“Hold me.” Jeyne’s voice was a tiny, quavering thing. Theon reached out to her, folding his wasted arms around her, and Jeyne grabbed him, pulling herself to him with surprising force. Her face was pressed into his wasted chest, and Theon reached up to cup her head with one mangled hand. He held her as sobs wracked her thin body, letting her pour her sadness out.   
“I thought- I remember thinking that this was it, that this was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me, that it couldn’t get any more horrible than that, but I was wrong and it just kept getting worse-“  
“Shhhh, shhhhh,” he soothed, trying to remember what Asha had done for him. “It’s over now. It’s over.” This was something, Theon thought, to be here for Jeyne as she wept, to hold her without fear. Slowly, Jeyne’s sobs dissolved into snuffles and small, hiccupping noises.   
“You need to go back to sleep. I’ll stay with you.” Theon reached over and slipped his shoes off, sliding under the covers with Jeyne.   
Jeyne smiled sleepily up at him, before nuzzling back into his chest. “I know you will.” Theon thought he might weep at that, at the trust on her face. He put his arms back around her and pulled her close, as if he could protect her. Jeyne wrapped her arms back around him, her hold gentle and tender. Theon still couldn’t sleep, but lying there, wrapped in the furs and blankets, with Jeyne warm in his arms and her arms secure around him, was almost as good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter once again beta'd by lanwan.

Jeyne took breakfast with Theon and Lady Asha, in Harlaw’s solar, as she had for the past week. The food was simple, eggs and dark bread and small fish, but Jeyne ate ravenously. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry, like there was a great pit inside her that needed filling. She was healing in some ways; she’d seen her bruises fading as she dressed. She felt safer now, less like she was going to be torn away at any moment.  
“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady.”  
“You’re welcome, Jeyne.” She pushed more fish onto Theon’s plate. “Eat, Theon.”  
Theon was carefully removing the flesh from a fish with his knife. “I am eating, don’t worry.” Jeyne could see how tentative his chewing was, as he tried to keep his teeth from protesting.  
“Eat more,” Asha turned to Jeyne, “I got the steward to find some-“ Asha gestured vaguely, “sewing things for you. I’ll give them to you after you’re done eating.”  
Jeyne looked up from buttering her bread. “Thank you, my lady.” It would be nice to do something that didn’t involve being fucked or beaten. It had been so long.  
Asha turned to Theon. “We need to prepare to call the Kingsmoot again when the Iron Fleet returns. Nuncle Roderick’s library has books on law. We’ll need to consult them.”  
Theon chuckled darkly. “You think there’s a point? The ironborn would never have accepted me as king, even before…”  
“We don’t need them to accept you as king. We just need them to accept that Euron’s Kingsmoot was invalid.” Asha shrugged.  
Jeyne swallowed her bread. “I think you’d be a good king.”  
Theon turned to her, obviously surprised. Jeyne felt her face flush, and she turned her attention back to her meal. 

Jeyne spent hours taking up the dresses Asha had found for her, losing herself in the neat rows of stitches. Sewing had always seemed to happen outside of time for her, and in that suspension, she felt safe. She hadn’t sewn in far too long, and her stitches were crooked. She sewed anyways, until her vision began to blur and the light changed. After she jabbed her finger for a third time, she gave up, and went looking for Theon.  
Jeyne found Theon down by the shore. He was standing at the very edge of the grey water, staring out over the waves. There was a cold wind coming off the water, sharp and cutting, and Jeyne pulled her hood closer around her cheeks and hunched into it. The gray rocks making up the shore were covered in a thin, slippery film of water and frost, and Jeyne had to place her feet carefully to keep from falling.  
“Theon?”  
He turned at the sound of her voice. “Jeyne?” His face was flushed from the cold, bright spots of colour standing out on his sunken cheeks and crooked nose. “What are you doing out here?”  
“I was looking for you.” The wind gusted harder, and Jeyne pulled her arms around herself against the chill. “It’s freezing out here.” She picked her way across the stones, and took his arm. “You should come inside before you get chilled.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“I can feel you shaking.” Jeyne leaned into Theon, resting her head on his shoulder. “There’s a fire in the rooms, and I can mull wine.”  
Theon took her hand, squeezing gently through their gloves. “Well, I won’t pass up wine.”  
Theon was even more unsteady than Jeyne was on the rocks, and Jeyne wondered how he had made it down safely in the first place.  
“Be careful out here. I don’t want you to fall.”  
“I’ve dealt with worse than a little ice, Jeyne. I’ll be fine.” His voice was even, but he didn’t let go of her arm. They kept each other steady as they made their way across the icy shore. 

In Jeyne’s rooms, Theon sat, and Jeyne busied herself with the kettles for wine and milk.  
“Jeyne?”  
“Mm?” She didn’t turn around, too focused on her work.  
“Do you truly think I’d be a good king?”  
Jeyne lifted the kettles onto the fire, and went to sit next to Theon on the blanket-covered bench.  
“Yes, I do.”  
Jeyne could see Theon’s throat working, as he tried to speak. When he finally did, his voice was small. “Why?”  
“Because you cared about me when no one else did.” She leaned into his side and, when he didn’t flinch away, rested her head on his shoulder.  
“What about the other northmen?”  
Jeyne was surprised at how bitter her chuckle was. “None of them cared. They could barely care about Lady Arya, why would they give a second glance to a steward’s daughter pulled out of some brothel?” She put an arm around his thin waist, and squeezed gently. “Not like you. You cared.”  
Theon grabbed her face and pressed his forehead to hers.  
“Theon?”  
His breathing was deep and shuddery, and he didn’t respond, just held her there. Jeyne felt Theon press his lips to her forehead, his patchy beard scratching against her skin. His lips were warm and gentle. There was no force behind them, just tenderness.  
“Listen to you,” he whispered. “You don’t even know what you’ve done.”  
“What- what have I done?”  
Theon pressed their heads back together. “You said my name, Jeyne. You knew me. I was nothing, but you did it anyway.”  
Jeyne reached up, and cupped the back of his head. “You needed me.”  
“I shouldn’t need this. I should be looking after you.”  
“You are looking after me.” Jeyne ran her fingers through his hair. It was as pale and fine as the foam on top of waves, and ran through her fingers easily now that it was clean. “Just let me look after you, too.”  
“I can’t-“ Theon’s voice broke, and he sounded like a child. “I can’t ask you to do that.”  
Jeyne reached out for him, but he pulled away. She pulled her arms back to her sides, feeling fear stab through her. The kettles over the fire hissed and spluttered.  
“Let me get that.” Jeyne rose, glad to have an excuse to turn away, and filled their mugs. Delicate curls of steam rose from the creamy surface of her milk, and the garnet-coloured surface of Theon’s wine. She handed Theon his mug, too afraid to meet his eyes.  
“Jeyne. It’s not you.”  
She looked up. Theon sipped at his wine, and smiled hesitantly. “You’ve done well.”  
Jeyne nodded, but she didn’t quite believe it. 

Jeyne followed Theon back to the library, carrying her sewing things with her. The library was huge, almost as large as Winterfell’s had been, and with the same smell, not quite musty, but on the edge. Asha was sitting at a large table, spread with books. She grinned at them.  
“It’s good to see you two.”  
Jeyne nodded, and smoothed her skirts. She wasn’t really scared of Asha, but things were easier with just Theon.  
“I have something for you, Jeyne.”  
“Yes, my lady?”  
Asha handed Jeyne a small, sheathed dagger. Jeyne took it, tentatively. It was a small knife, with a hilt of some dark wood, and a sheath of dark leather. Jeyne felt faint just holding it. “I can’t take this, Lady Asha.”  
“You need something. You’re an islander now. That knife was mine, when I was of an age with you.”  
Jeyne curtsied again. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.” She didn’t want the gift, but she could still be gracious.  
Asha reached out and squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to call me Lady, Jeyne. Just Asha.”  
Jeyne squeezed her skirts in her free hand. “Yes… my lady.”  
Asha laughed, and Jeyne felt her face heat up. “I’m sorry, Lady Asha. It’s just not… right. It’s disrespectful.”  
Asha reached over, and ruffled Jeyne’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing well.”  
Jeyne basked in the compliment. “Thank you, Lady Asha.”  
~  
Theon sat at the table with Asha. Jeyne had gone off to find something to amuse herself with, and it was just the two of them now.  
“She’s a good child.” Asha was looking where Jeyne had gone.  
“Yes.” Theon swallowed. “She is.”  
Asha chuckled. “You should see how she looks at you. She thinks you hung the moon.”  
Theon remembered what he’d seen in Jeyne’s big brown eyes. There was admiration there, and hope, and a deep tenderness it hurt to think about. “I don’t-” He reached out to Asha, and she pulled him close. “I don’t know how to deal with that. She thinks I’m a good man, that I’m a hero, when I’m just-”  
Asha pressed a calloused hand to his mouth. “You are her hero, Theon.”  
He shook his head, pulling away from Asha’s grip. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t understand-” He clamped his hands over his mouth, horrified at his discourtesy.  
“What don’t I understand, Theon?” There was no danger or hostility in Asha’s voice, none of the feeling of walking across weak ice that usually came with questions, so Theon relaxed a little.  
“She saved me, Asha. She said my name. She treated me like I was… something. She says she wants to look after me.” He sobbed, and felt hot tears slide down his face. “I don’t know how to face that.”  
“Oh Theon…” Asha pulled him close again, her arms tight around him. “I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “This shouldn’t have happened.”  
Theon rested his head on her chest. “I was determined to destroy myself. You couldn’t have done anything.”  
“I could have knocked you senseless and tied you to the back of my horse.” Asha’s voice was so blunt, Theon had to bite back a laugh, and when he looked at her face, she was smiling.  
“You’re doing better.”  
Theon nodded. He supposed he was. He was fed, and clean, and he had Asha and Jeyne.  
“You should see Mother, Theon.”  
Theon clenched his fists, feeling his missing fingers tingle. “I shouldn’t, Asha.”  
“Why not? She knows you’re here. She wants to see you.”  
Theon stared at his gloved hands, seeing what was inside them. “I can’t give her what she wants, Asha. I can’t be the son she needs.” Theon remembered her as a firm, kind figure, with warm arms. He remembered screaming for her, after he stopped being ashamed of pleading, but before he stopped pleading at all.  
Asha reached out, and touched his face. “She wants you, Theon. She just wants her baby boy back. You didn’t hear her pleading for you for ten years. I did.”  
“Fine. Just… come with me.”  
Asha embraced him again. “Of course, baby brother.” 

Jeyne followed them without being asked. She took Theon gently by his wrist, and her hand was soft and warm.  
“Are you worried?”  
“Yes.” He should have said no. It was shameful, to need to be coddled by a child, to seek comfort with Jeyne when he was supposed to be comforting her, but he couldn’t stop himself.  
“She’s your mother, Theon. She’ll know you. Mothers always know their children.” She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “And we’ll be here. We know you.”  
Theon took her hand, and felt Asha squeeze his shoulder. “Yes.” 

His mother’s rooms were large and well-lit, with clean rushes on the floor. That was good, Theon thought vaguely. She should be comfortable. Then he saw her, and he couldn’t think about anything else. Alannys Harlaw was sitting in a chair by the window, her pale hair running unbound down her back. Her eyes were wide in her thin face, like a lost child’s. Is that what I look like? he wondered suddenly and absurdly.  
“Mother, I’ve brought him.” Asha’s voice was gentle. “I’ve brought Theon.”  
Alannys rose from her chair, and crossed the room to Theon. He was taller than her, he realized. Had she always been so small?  
“Mother, it’s me.” His voice broke, and Theon could feel his hands shaking. “It’s Theon.”  
She gripped his face, studying his face with a burning intensity. Her eyes ran over his face, and all Theon could think was how ruined he was, how wasted and scarred, with no trace of the boy he had been remaining. Theon wanted to pull away, to apologize for bothering her, when something in her face changed and she pulled him into her arms.  
“Theon,” she whispered, “Oh, my baby boy.”  
Something inside Theon broke then, and he began to cry. He leaned into his mother’s embrace, and wept like a child. Alannys held him as he cried, held him as if she would never let him go. She was whispering his name, gently, like the waves lapping against the shore on a calm day. Theon felt strangely clean when he was done crying, as if he had been washed by his tears. His mouth tasted salty, and he could feel the salt in his eyelashes, permeating him. Asha came over to them.  
“Better now?”  
Theon wasn’t sure which of them she was speaking to, but he nodded anyways.  
Alannys reached out and patted Asha’s shoulder. Theon was struck again by how small she was, how fragile she seemed, as if a rough gust of wind would blow her away. “You look after your baby brother, Asha.”  
“Aye. I will, Mother.” Asha’s voice was quiet, almost choked, but she was smiling.  
Theon could feel a weight lifting off him, a weight he hadn’t even realized was there in the first place.  
“Jeyne?” He looked to where Jeyne was standing, still stuck at the room’s threshold. “Come meet my mother.”  
Jeyne came over hesitantly, and then sunk into a deep curtsy. “It’s an honour to meet you, Lady Alannys. I am Jeyne Poole. Theon has been… looking after me.” She ran her hands over her skirt. “You should be proud of your son, my lady.”  
Alannys smiled. “Such a formal little thing. Seems you’ve grown into a good man, Theon.”  
Theon felt an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in his chest. Pride, it was pride. His mother approved of him, and he pulled his shoulders a little straighter.  
“It’s thanks to Jeyne.”  
Jeyne squeaked, and turned pink. Theon reached out, and squeezed her shoulder. “She made me a better man.” His mother didn’t need to know the whole truth, didn’t need to know how far he had fallen, how he hadn’t even been a man. She was happy, and he couldn’t take that away from her.  
Asha threw her arms around them both, pulling them close.  
“You too, Jeyne.” Theon’s voice was muffled in Asha’s shoulder, but he felt Jeyne put her arms around him, cautiously. He squeezed her back, and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the safety of being cared for. 

“Your mother is a sweet woman,” Jeyne said, bent over her sewing.  
Theon looked up from the book Asha had pushed on him, and nodded.  
“You seem happier, now that you’ve seen her.”  
“Yes.” Theon took a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”  
Jeyne folded her sewing into her lap; Theon caught a flash of yellow against the dark cloth, and leaned closer to him. “What is it, Theon?”  
Even with how soft her voice was, it was hard to meet her eyes. Theon made himself anyways, looked into those warm brown depths. “I don’t- I don’t know how to tell her. About what happened, about why I’m like this.”  
“You told Asha…”  
Theon shook his head. “Asha was different. I knew she could handle it.” Neither of them mentioned what Jeyne knew. Everything Jeyne knew, she had seen or been told. She hadn’t chosen to know it, and Theon hadn’t chosen to tell her. “I don’t want to think about it.”  
“I think… I think if she cares she’d want to know these things,” Jeyne said, her voice quivering. “If she doesn’t know, she’ll worry.”  
“She’ll worry anyways, and—"  
Jeyne put her hand on his. “And what?”  
“She was… so proud of me. I don’t want to tell her what happened and lose that.” He was ashamed of it all, ashamed of the time he’d spent as a whipped dog, of all that he had done and let be done.  
Jeyne didn’t say anything, just rested her hand on his. 

Theon went to his mother’s rooms alone this time. Alannys wasn’t gazing out the window this time, but turned to face the door. _Watching for me._ He knelt next to her, ignoring the pain in his feet. “Mother, did Asha— did Asha tell you—” She turned to him, and his determination melted away. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not until she was stronger. Not until he was.  
Alannys reached out, and stroked his hair.  
“The man who did this, you said he was dead?”  
“Yes, Mother. King Stannis took his head off.”  
Alannys nodded, and for a brief moment she looked more like Asha than anything. “He’s fortunate, then.”  
“Fortunate…?”  
“That this king got to him before I did.”  
The fire in her eyes was so fierce that, despite her frailty, Theon believed her.  
“Thank you, mother.”


End file.
